


Cake It Till You Make It

by ChocolateCapCookie



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Enemies to Lovers, Holiday Fic Exchange, Idiots in Love, Kid Fic, M/M, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Pre-Slash, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateCapCookie/pseuds/ChocolateCapCookie
Summary: Steve Rogers and Tony Stark have a lot in common. They're single parents, they own rival bakeries at the center of town... and they both hate each other's guts.When a mix-up at Peter and Morgan's school has both fathers scrambling to prove they're the better baker, they do the mature, adult thing and compete in a bake-off. Between the mixing and the creaming, the baking and the icing, Steve and Tony find that hate is actually not that far from love.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 124
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Holiday Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BladeoftheNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeoftheNebula/gifts).



> Prompt: Rival chefs/cooks compete in a bake-off. I hope I did it justice lol, and I hope you like it Neb.
> 
> Thank you as always to my wonderful, amazing beta, @mayamoksin, not just for looking it over but giving me the title and name suggestions for Tony’s bakery xD

Steve piped one last line of icing down his cookies, his tongue peeking out of his mouth as he tried to get it perfectly straight. He stayed stock-still, barely breathing until he pulled the piping tip away. 

“I’m done!” he called triumphantly, and two adorably-dressed elves ran into the bakery, grabbing the cookies and pressing them neatly into pre-lined boxes. They weren’t really elves, of course, but it was a never-ending source of hilarity for Steve to see his two best friends, the most dangerous people he knew, dressed like Santa’s little slaves.

“I can feel you staring at my costume, Stevie,” Bucky growled from where he was delicately placing the cookies in a box, trying not to break them or smudge the fresh icing. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, but Bucky, you look so _adorable_ as an elf,” Steve crooned. “And those tights make your ass look great.”

“You so much as look at my ass, Steven, I’m quitting. Right now.” Natasha paused her delicate cookie work for a second to glare at Steve, who looked appropriately contrite. “Ass. No-touching or -looking zone. Understood?” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Why do we have to wear these stupid costumes?” he grumbled, glaring at Steve like it was all his fault. And it was. Steve didn’t like to exercise his power as the owner of Sweet Nothings too often, but when he decided the place needed to have a more “festive” air, he went all out.

“It’s not fair,” Bucky continued, as he tied a red-and-green ribbon over the white cookie box. “You did this cause you knew you wouldn’t have to wear these stupid costumes.”

“Exactly,” said Steve with a shit-eating grin, and pushed open the kitchen door so Bucky and Natasha could carry the boxes out to the customer space. “But also because Peter looks adorable in them.”

As if on cue, another much smaller human ran through the open kitchen door, colliding into Bucky’s legs. Bucky almost dropped the boxes but caught them at the last second. Peter didn’t even notice the chaos he’d almost caused, running up to his father and wrapping his tiny arms around his legs.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, Petey-pie!” Steve dusted off his hands and removed his apron before hoisting the six-year-old onto his hip, pressing loud kisses all over his face.

“Daddy, stop!” he giggled. “It tickles.”

“Peter, how many times have we told you not to run in the shop?” sighed Steve.

“Sorry, daddy, but—”

“No, mister, you get no buts. Imagine if Uncle Bucky had fallen and dropped those cookie boxes. They’d all be broken, and we’d have to throw them away. Do you want that?”

Peter looked down sadly. “No, daddy, I don’t.” He turned to his Uncle Bucky, pure remorse on his face. “I’m sorry, Uncle Bucky.”

“That’s fine, Pete,” Bucky grunted, still trying to hold the door open while one arm supported multiple cookie boxes. “Just… help me out here will you?”

Peter obediently leaped from Steve’s arms, holding the door open until Bucky and Natasha had walked through. Steve dusted himself off and checked on the cakes still baking in the oven; they needed a few more minutes.

“Whatcha do at school today?”

Peter immediately launched into a monologue about a huge lego-brick-monster he’d built, Steve listening and multitasking as he catalogued the next day’s orders in his head. There was the tiered cake he needed to finish for the Maximoffs’ wedding, the thirteen remaining cookie orders he could get Nat to do, and of course, their largest order of the week; 36 cupcakes for Peter’s kindergarten graduation-and-Christmas party. He’d completely forgotten about them, seeing as how 36 cupcakes was way too little for a party of 30-odd children and their parents; hell, he’d done orders double that size in far less time. Still, he should probably start on them tomorrow, or maybe the day after, since the party was less than a week away. Speaking of which—

“What were you saying, Pete?”

“I made it with Morgan!” said Peter happily. “I gave her all the red blocks, and I took the blue ones, and we made the monster red and blue, daddy!”

Steve scowled.

“And why exactly were you playing with Morgan Stark? I thought we weren’t friends?”

“You and Mr. Stark aren’t friends, Daddy,” Peter corrected. “I like Morgan. She’s funny.”

Steve turned to check on the cakes again, trying to hide his frustration. After all, Peter hadn't done anything wrong. He had the perfect right to play with anyone he wanted to play with.

But _god_ did Steve despise Tony Stark. Steve made it a point never to hate _anyone_ , to raise Peter with a sense of acceptance and kindness towards everyone, but Steve had a hard time understanding why his son would be friends with someone whose father was the literal devil.

Tony Stark had no sense of propriety. Sugar Daddy, located just a few stores down from Steve’s and across the street, looked more like a tattoo parlour or the Mad Hatter’s tea party than a bakery, as if the name wasn’t bad enough. Steve couldn’t understand how people put up with it, but apparently his baked goods tasted heavenly (Steve had no experience of this himself — he’d die before he ever consented to eat any Stark’s products).

Steve still remembered how, when he’d first opened Sweet Nothings as an unemployed veteran scrambling for money, he’d suffered way too many times by customers telling him they’d rather buy Sugar Daddy’s goods, and Tony Stark seemed to gloat over every single order he got that should’ve been Steve’s instead. It took Steve several years to build his business up, and none of it was helped by Tony Stark acting like an overgrown toddler.

Even thinking about him now, Steve had to stop himself from grinding his teeth in frustration. He poked the toothpicks into the cakes a little more aggressively than was probably needed, taking them out of the oven to cool once he saw that they were done. He took a deep breath to calm himself down.

“What about your other friends?” he asked Peter. “There’s Ned and MJ, they’re really nice. And that boy named something Wilson—”

“I thought you didn’t like Wade?” said Peter confused. _I don’t, but even a 6-year-old psychopath is better than Tony Stark’s kid!_ , Steve mentally responded. There were some things you unfortunately couldn’t say to a kindergartener. 

“I’m just saying, sweetheart, it’s good for you to make more friends. I’m sure Morgan is… really nice… but you should play with the other kids too.” Peter shrugged, and Steve decided he’d better move away from the subject while it was still safe. Peter had an amazingly curious mind for a 6-year-old, and that wasn’t always a good thing.

“I still have a lot of work to do back here, Pete,” said Steve, automatically adjusting Peter’s shirt collar. “Do you think you can be a good boy and not disturb Uncle Bucky in the front?”

“Can I have your phone?” asked Peter and Steve handed it to him with a sigh. He hated letting Peter play on his phone but sometimes it was the only way to keep him occupied. 

“Only thirty minutes, okay? Then you have to start on your homework.”

“Okay, Daddy,” said Peter excitedly, pausing only long enough for Steve to press a kiss to his head before running off, probably to terrorize his uncle. Steve sighed and turned back to his work, all thoughts of Peter and Morgan and kindergarten Christmas parties forgotten as he started to prepare a new batch of cakes. Still, try as he might, he couldn’t entirely stop That Tony Stark from occupying the back of his mind.

  
  
  


Tony stood at the door of the bakery, waiting, as he did every day, for Morgan to come back from school. It didn’t matter what he was doing, he always made it a point to welcome his girl back every day. Some days, it was the only time he got to spend with her.

“Maguna!” he cheered as Morgan walked in, immediately hugging her to his chest. Morgan smiled too.

“Hiya, Daddy!” she chirped, sounding oddly cheerful. Must have been a good day at school.

“How was your day, young ‘un?” he asked, leading her inside. The smell of warm baked bread hit them immediately, and the pair paused almost involuntarily to take a large sniff.

“It was great!” said Morgan, settling down at the table reserved specially for her. “I ate all my snacks, Daddy. And I played with Peter today.”

Just like that, Tony’s good mood vanished, replaced instead with an aggravating desire to clench his fists and crush something. Peter… Steve Rogers’ son.

“Why Peter? Did no one else want to play with you?” The only situation he could imagine in which his offspring playing with anything connected to Steve Rogers was if the world was ending and Morgan had no other friends left.

“He’s always nice to me,” Morgan shrugged. “He let me split the Legos with him, even though it was his turn today.”

Tony kissed Morgan and left her to her devices, seated at the front where everyone could keep an eye on her. He went back to the dough he’d been working on, kneading it a little harder than usual. It was just his luck that Morgan had to be friends with Peter. As far as Tony was concerned, anything and anyone related to Steve Rogers was no good.

Stupid, perfect, Steve Rogers with his aesthetically pleasing signs and beautiful store. He was _too_ perfect, really, and it annoyed the hell out of Tony, especially when Rogers felt the need to say that to Tony himself. So _what_ if his orders were a little delayed, and if his store wasn’t “traditionally” presented? And the name, which Steve seemed to find increasingly offensive every time he saw it, was hilarious. People liked his food and they kept coming back, and that was all Tony cared about. Steve had only opened his store a few years ago, and while it was nice to have a little of the load off, it wasn’t fun losing half his sales to this new, upstart, _perfect_ little bakery that looked like it came straight out of Victorian England. And that was only the tip of the iceberg, on the list of reasons to hate that stupidly perfect Steve Rogers.

Rhodey walked in just then, smirking at the sight of Tony’s face. That, and maybe at how aggressively he was punching the dough.

“You know we spent a lot of money on industrial-strength mixers, right?” he commented mildly. “Maybe you could actually use them?”

“Fuck off,” grunted Tony, pummeling the dough. It felt good, imagining Steve’s face instead.

“Fine. You could use the exercise,” said Rhodey. Tony scowled, but Rhodey's words had the desired effect and he dropped the dough, panting. He stuffed it into the nearest mixer, ignoring Rhodey’s smirk.

“Did you get started on the cupcakes?” he asked, dusting the counter off, “36 cupcakes isn’t too many, but they have to be perfect. You don’t want to disappoint Morgan, do you?” He eyed Rhodey beadily.

“Jesus, Tones, calm down, there’s still like five days to go. I’ll get started on them tomorrow.”

“As long as you do.”

“What do these kids even need a Christmas party for?” grumbled Rhodey. “When I was a kid, we just moved from kindergarten to first grade. That’s it. We didn’t have any of this fancy graduation shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry you had a shitty childhood,” snarked Tony, “But Morgan gets whatever she wants. And if that means her school ordered 36 cupcakes, we’re making her 36 cupcakes.”

“There is no way 36 cupcakes is enough for the entire party,” Rhodey pointed out, at which Tony only rolled his eyes again.

“Get to work,” he said, shooing Rhodey out of the door of the kitchen. “I don’t pay you to sit in here and eat my food.”

Rhodey left, smirking all the while. Tony pulled the quite probably over-kneaded dough out of the mixer and started shaping it into loaf pans, ready to bake. He definitely wasn’t thinking about stupid, perfect Steve Rogers or his stupid, perfect smile.

  
  
  


“Peter, time to go, bud,” Steve called, locking the door to the kitchens behind him. Peter ambled forward, hurriedly stuffing his school books inside his worn backpack, smiling sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he said, trying his best to close the zipper. “I forgot to put it away neatly.” Steve sighed and let it go. It wouldn’t matter for once.

“Did you finish all your homework?” Steve asked, looking around to see if he had forgotten anything. Nat was giving the place a quick sweep, but besides that, everything seemed clear.

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter chirped. “Can I watch TV when we get home?”

“If you take a bath,” Steve replied wearily, and turned all the lights off, checking to make sure nothing was left on. He waved a quick goodbye to Nat, who’d lock up, and hustled Peter outside the shop. He was in no mood to linger, the cold air hitting his face making him more and more eager to get back inside. Still, he paused as he saw two similar people, making similar movements a little way down the opposite street.

Tony Stark.

Peter had obviously noticed them too and he waved hello towards Morgan, who waved back just as wildly. The two men glared at each other but neither said a word, quickly hustling their children away.

  
  
  


“Why didn’t you let me talk to Peter, Daddy?” wailed Morgan, stomping angrily in the snow. Tony felt the slightest smidge of guilt, which he pushed down immediately. He wasn’t going to feel guilty over anything related to Steve Rogers.

“I’m sorry, honey, but we need to get home quickly,” he said, lying through his teeth. They didn’t need to get home quickly; in fact, Tony would have loved to stay out longer in this weather. But the outside wasn’t safe from random Rogers sightings, and sadly, he had to go home.

“Why don’t you like Peter’s daddy?” asked Morgan, suddenly, and Tony groaned. The perils of having an overly smart child.

“I do like him, pumpkin,” lied Tony again, “But I’m very busy with the bakery so I don’t have time to make friends, you know?”

“You’re friends with Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Bruce,” Morgan pointed out.

“That’s ‘cause we work together.”

“Uncle Bruce doesn’t work with you.”

“Okay, that’s enough questions for today, little miss,” Tony huffed, throwing a handful of snow at her feet. Excited, she giggled and threw another handful of snow at her father, the pair getting wet and dirty as they threw snow at each other, Morgan having forgotten all about the topic at hand. Tony kissed her nose and carried her home.

  
  
  


Steve, watching from the other end of the street, scowled.

That stupid Tony Stark.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony dropped Morgan off at school himself the next day; he’d normally ask Bruce or Rhodey to do it, but he’d woken up feeling a bit clingy today.

He held Morgan’s hand as they crossed the street but let her run ahead as they reached the primary school. Morgan chattered happily to her million little friends, and Tony gave the obligatory smile to all the stay-at-home mommies gathered around the gate, whose only occupation seemed to be judging him.

He has no time for them today, however, and he gripped Morgan’s hand tightly, leading her inside the blissfully warm atmosphere of the school. Morgan grinned, excitedly pointing out the art on the walls and which of the million similar-looking kids was her best friend and—

Oh. It was _him_. Again

Steve Rogers was standing a little ways ahead of them, clutching Peter’s hand tightly in his own. He looked like he was talking to Morgan’s homeroom teacher about something, and Tony had to physically stop himself from grinding his teeth together, watching Steve Rogers being all smiles. Glaring at the small group, Tony managed to catch the tail end of their conversation.

“...36 cupcakes by Monday, of course, that’s no problem..."

Tony’s jaw dropped. As if it wasn’t enough that Steve Rogers was so infuriatingly perfect, now he was trying to steal Tony’s business. Tony was generally a nice guy, as Morgan would attest, but he simply would not stand for this.

“Hey!” he said, in a voice maybe a little too loud for the setting, but aimed solely at Steve Rogers and Ms. Hill. “What’re you making 36 cupcakes for?”

“Typical Stark, always have to butt into other people’s conversations,” Rogers sneered, and Tony rolled his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot around him. “They’re for the kids’ graduation and Christmas party. They want to feed the kids _good_ cupcakes around here.”

Tony glared at Miss Hill, feeling both confused and enraged.

“I thought you ordered the cupcakes from us?”

“Ah, well…” stammered the normally stoic Miss Hill, “Morgan and Peter were both very adamant that their fathers make the cupcakes for the Christmas party, and rather than disappoint them, we thought the best course of action would be to have some from both.” She shrugged. “Variety doesn’t hurt either.”

Both men’s jaws dropped.

“Why would you even _want_ his cupcakes?” Tony demanded, giving Steve an equally potent stink-eye. “They taste like my gym socks after I work out.”

“I didn’t think your noodle arms knew what a workout _was_.”

“Oh, please, at least I don’t walk around in t-shirts that flash my man-boobs!”

“Gentlemen!” said Hill, firmly enough that Tony felt slightly ashamed. “There are children around you that don’t need to hear you bickering like an old married couple, so please leave your war _outside_ the school gates next time. Understood?”

Tony mumbled a “yes”, duly ashamed, as did Steve next to him. It was actually kind of adorable, how this giant specimen of a human managed to look small and ashamed next to Hill.

No. Bad Tony. Nothing about Steve was _adorable._ Tony glared at Steve as they walked away, angry at himself for his moment of weakness.

  
  
  


Steve didn’t know why Stark was staring so threateningly at him, like he’d kicked a puppy or something. It wasn’t _Steve’s_ fault the school wanted two sets of cupcakes. Steve simply glared back; if Tony wanted to fight, Steve wouldn’t back down first.

“You don’t have to overwork your tiny arms on these cupcakes,” said Steve as they walked into the frigid outside. The snow had picked up in the short time they’d been inside, and Steve was glad he’d biked Peter to school that morning. He wouldn’t want to walk back in this wind. “Everyone knows mine will be better anyway.”

“Oh, fuck you, Rogers.” Tony laughed shrilly, pulling his jacket sleeves over his hands to keep them warm. Nothing about that was adorable. Of course not. “Nobody’s going to eat your stupid cupcakes. Morgan’s friends love mine.”

“And Peter’s friends love _mine,_ ” Steve countered, resolutely not staring at the way Tony was rubbing his sweater paws together. “Because they know mine are _better._ ”

“Oh yeah?” Tony stopped walking and Steve had to deftly sidestep him so he wouldn’t trip and fall in the snow. That _asshole_. He’d probably done it on purpose. “You really want to test that theory?”

“Do whatever you want, hobbit,” Steve fired back, thankful that they’d finally reached the gates. He climbed onto his motorcycle and began unstrapping his helmet, pointedly ignoring the way Tony still glared at him.

“Bake-off. Your cupcakes versus mine. Whichever gets eaten the most at the Christmas party wins. We’ll let the kids be the judge.”

“Didn't peg you for someone who likes losing,” laughed Steve. “Sure. We’ll do that.”

“The only cupcake you won’t take back home is the one I smash in your face after you _lose_ ,” sneered Tony, and Steve rolled his eyes. “See you later, or not. I hope not, actually.”

Steve threw him the middle finger as Tony turned away, and Tony just scowled, slipping his hands into his pockets and pushing the school gates open rather more aggressively than they needed to be. 

Steve frowned. It hadn’t hit him until right now but… Tony wasn’t planning on walking home was he? In this snow? The snow wasn’t too bad, but the cold couldn’t be comfortable. Steve revved his bike up and drove out of the gates, pausing in front of Tony, who was only a few feet ahead.

“Are you planning on walking home?” he asked, having to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the wind and the bike. Steve saw Tony’s face curl into his ever-present scowl.

“What’s it to you?” growled Tony. “Some of us like to get some exercise in the mornings, instead of killing the planet.”

“But it’s too cold,” said Steve, too concerned to even think about making a snarky reply back. “You’ll freeze!”

“It’s a 15-minute walk,” replied Tony. “I think I can handle the cold.”

“Are you sure?” asked Steve, his brow furrowed. Even as Tony exasperatedly nodded a yes, Steve could see his hands clenched tightly in his pockets, the red flush on his face, the way he was shivering ever so slightly. Steve sighed. He had to do this, didn’t he? He had to be the bigger person.

“Come on,” he said, “We can go back together.”

Tony simply stared at him, speechless.

“Is this some grand plan to kidnap me and kill me and then hide my body?” he asked indignantly. “You won't win that way, Rogers; my co-workers can make better cupcakes than you with their eyes closed and a hand tied behind their backs.”

“Can you, for once in your life, shut up and listen to me?” gritted Steve. Stark was so fucking annoying. “It’s too cold to walk back. We’re going to the same place. I’m offering you a lift because, believe it or not, _Stark_ , as much as I hate you, I don’t want you to die and leave Morgan parentless. Now are you coming, or can I leave and go back to my nice bakery where I don’t need to deal with angry dwarves yelling at me for trying to help?”

Tony just stared at Steve, and he could tell the man was shocked. Steve didn’t do public outbursts very often. Then, as if he’d taken the time to weigh his options, Tony nodded and clambered unsteadily onto the bike. He muttered a quiet “thank you” into Steve’s shoulder, but neither of them said another word to each other the whole ride home.

  
  
  


Tony had to bite his lip as Steve Rogers drove them back to their respective bakeries. He didn’t know what was happening, but somehow, he’d gone from yelling at Steve and setting a bake-off, to wrapping his arms around Rogers’s waist, trusting the man with his life. He should feel uncomfortable. Here he was, riding on the snowy streets with his life in the hands of his mortal enemy. This should not feel good.

And yet, inexplicably, it did. While Tony had tried to maintain minimal contact at first, that idea had been thrown to the wind, almost literally, as Steve sped through the icy streets, and Tony was forced to press onto him just to keep himself seated. 

Steve’s waist was surprisingly small for such a large human, and Tony’s arms fit oh-so-perfectly around them, warm and snug. His body, pressed up against Steve’s back, felt warm and cozy as well. He didn’t like thinking about it, but this was the first human contact he’d had in, well… a very long time. Since Pepper, for sure. Tony had to try very hard not to let himself cuddle against Steve’s broad back. He wasn’t tall enough to peek over his shoulder, so instead, he rested his head at the bottom of Steve’s neck, feeling an inexplicable sense of calm. Why did this feel good?

Far sooner than he would have liked, Steve came to a stop in front of Sugar Daddy, parking the bike near the pavement so Tony could climb down. Tony stepped down awkwardly, unsure what to say here. Should he thank Steve? Offer to pay him? Give him a cupcake for his troubles?

“Bake-off’s still on,” was the only thing he managed to say, a little weakly, and Steve only smirked at him before driving back to Sweet Nothings.

Walking inside, Tony felt a confusing mix of anger, frustration and… excitement? What was he excited about?

 _No._ thought Tony, shaking his head. He wasn’t excited. He had no positive emotions about anything related to Steve Rogers. Rogers was, and always had been, a complete dick to Tony, and the fact that he did one nice thing didn’t erase all of the times over the years that he’d made Tony’s blood boil in fury.

Scowling to himself, Tony pulled out his trusted recipe book. He knew every word of it by heart, but if he wanted to beat Rogers in this bake-off, he had to make sure that his cupcakes turned out absolutely fucking perfect.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve slammed the door so hard, everyone inside the bakery stopped what they were doing, looking up at the door in alarm. Steve didn’t notice, angrily slipping out of his jacket and gloves and slipping into the kitchen.

“Whoa. Stevie, let’s try not to break this place down,” said Bucky from where he was stationed at the counter, still wearing the green elf costume

“Sorry,” he mumbled apologetically, but he was still seething as he got to work.

The absolute _nerve_ of that Tony Stark. Steve had just tried to be _nice_. He’d tried to stop Tony from freezing to death. And what did he get for all of his troubles? Not even a thank you.

“Hey, Steve,” said Natasha, slowly, like she was approaching a wild animal. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” said Steve, not looking her in the eye. “But, uh… the cupcakes I asked you to make for Peter’s Christmas party? Don’t bother. I’ll do them myself.”

Natasha lifted her brow in confusion. “Are you sure?” Steve just nodded. “Why?”

“Long story.”

“So tell me while we work.”

Steve sighed. Sometimes, he forgot that Nat was one of the few people he knew who could beat his stubborn streak.

“Peter’s teacher ordered cupcakes from both of us. Us and Stark’s, I mean. Let’s just say, Tony Stark wasn’t very happy when he found out. We said some shit. And now I need to make sure my cupcakes are better than his.” Steve knew he sounded like a petulant toddler but he didn’t really care at the moment. That was what Tony Stark did to him.

“Steve,” said Natasha, sounding absolutely exasperated. “Cupcakes are cupcakes! You’re making tiny cakes with overly sweet frosting for kindergartners! They’re all the same!”

“Well, then, I’ll have to make mine taste _better_.”

Natasha sighed, gesturing to Steve to take a seat. “Steve,” she said, slowly. “What is this really about?”

“I don’t know,” said Steve, frustrated. “He challenged me to a bake-off. I couldn't say no, could I?”

“No, but we both know this isn’t just about the cupcakes.”

“Of course it isn’t. I hate him. I hate every single bit of his stupidly handsome face. I hate how adorably tiny he is. I hate that he can actually make good food.” Steve was pacing around the tiny kitchen now, aggravated. “I hate him, Nat, and I want to prove to his stupid, perfect face that I’m better than he is.”

“Yes, sounds like you really, really despise him,” said Natasha drolly.

“I do!”

“Whatever, Steve. I don’t care if you hate him or want to marry him. But maybe you need to stop obsessing over him every second of your day.”

“I don’t—”

“Steve we’ve been in this kitchen for ten minutes and you haven’t said a single thing that isn’t related to Tony Stark.”

Steve gripped his hair in frustration. Maybe Natasha was right. He couldn’t spend his time obsessing over Stark. He would just… focus on his own cupcakes, and make sure they tasted so good, Tony would be knocked off his feet.

Not in _that_ way, of course.

“I’m going to get started on the batter,” he mumbled to Natasha, who simply patted him on the shoulder and left to check on Bucky. Steve closed his eyes, trying to focus.

_Don’t think about him. No more Tony Stark. Think about… puppies and kittens and baby pandas. Peter when he was a toddler._

Appropriately focused, Steve stood up and tied his apron, ready to start on the cupcakes. He’d only just grabbed the bag of flour to weigh its contents, when Nat walked back into the kitchen, an enigmatic smirk on her face.

“Stark’s here to see you.”

  
  
  


Tony couldn’t help the scowl that covered his face as he stepped inside of Sweet Nothings. The aesthetic was nothing like what he was used to; all plain pastels and marble, with “abstract” art pieces on the walls. It looked like an Instagram influencer’s dream.

Tony hated every bit of it.

He was still scowling as he walked over to the giant elf manning the counter — seriously, how did this guy ever find an elf costume in his size?

“Hi. I want to talk to Steve.”

The elf eyed him suspiciously. “You’re Tony Stark, right? Whaddaya want Steve for?”

“No wonder you don’t have any sales, if this is how you treat all your customers,” snorted Tony, and he felt a ripple of pleasure at the elf’s frown. “I need to talk to him for… business purposes. None of your business.”

The elf opened his mouth, likely to give Tony another stupid reply, when another elf, red-headed this time, popped up from behind the coffee machine.

“He’ll be right out,” she said, in a manner that seemed both charming and threatening, and both men fell silent as she slipped into the kitchens.

There was an awkward silence then, and Tony stood mutely at the counter, taking in the sights so as not to look the elf in the eye again.

The artwork wasn’t too bad, really. It wasn’t much Tony’s style, but he could see that a lot of effort had gone into it. He wondered how Steve could afford to buy them, since they were very clearly artist originals, not reproductions. The light colors were giving him a headache, but he had to admit the overall effect was — dare he say it — pretty.

Pretty soon, Steve Rogers himself stepped out of the kitchens, looking like… well, he looked like he always did. Like a Greek god in human form, with bulging muscles and that fluffy mop of blond hair. Handsome maybe, but not Tony’s type.

Definitely not.

“Stark,” he said gruffly, giving him a slight nod. He didn’t give Tony a chance to reply before he turned to the bulky elf. “Buck, check on the cakes for me, will you? I’ll take the counter for now.”

Buck — who the hell named their child _Buck_ of all things; Howard Stark had been obsessed with money but even _he_ hadn’t gone as far as to name his child after money — nodded and walked into the kitchens, leaving Tony and Steve alone at the counter.

“Did you need something?”

Tony bristled at Steve’s tone. He’d come here intending to make nice, but if that’s how he wanted to play it…

“I was thinking—”

“Oh, that must have hurt. Came here for some comfort food?” asked Steve sarcastically. Tony had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling back. He took a deep breath.

“I was serious about this bake-off.”

“So was I.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say, Stark?”

“It’s not fair for us to work separately,” shrugged Tony. “I mean, if you make chocolate cupcakes and I make vanilla, it’s not a fair fight. Not that I wouldn’t be able to beat you vanilla-to-chocolate,” he sneered, “But I’d rather win fairly.”

“Okay,” said Steve, squaring his shoulders. “So… what? You came here to discuss flavours?”

“And decorations,” said Tony, his fists clenched. Steve’s offhand, I-don’t-give-a-shit tone was more aggravating than when he yelled at Tony.

“Fine.”

“And, uh...” Tony swallowed nervously. This was the part he was most nervous about, the part he wanted to do least, and yet, the part he had to do the most, “We can’t work separately,” he said, finally looking Rogers directly in the eye. “We make them together. At the same time, same place. So I know you’re not cheating.”

“I don’t have to _cheat_ to win this,” huffed Steve, looking as though he was offended at the very thought. “Fine. I agree. But we work here, on Sunday, when we can have the whole day.”

“What?” squeaked Tony. “I can’t work in your kitchen! It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board!”

“And I wouldn’t want to work in yours,” said Steve, crinkling his nose. Tony refused to be distracted by how cute it looked. “When was the last time you cleaned your equipment?” Tony scowled.

“We clean everything, every night,” he said, anger burning in his chest, “And our kitchen is bigger and probably works better than your old-ass tools.”

Steve’s nose flared at that, but he had to concede. They both knew Tony was right.

“Fine,” gritted Steve, gripping the marble counter so hard Tony half expected it to break off. That was not hot in any way. “Sunday, at 9. We have the whole day that way, and the cupcakes’ll be fresh on Monday. Bucky can babysit Peter,” said Steve. “He’ll watch Morgan too if you like,” he added as an afterthought.

“Okay then.”

“Okay.”

There was a brief but awkward silence.

“I’ll, uh, see you on Sunday then.” Said Tony

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Steve left then, heading back into the kitchen, and Tony definitely did _not_ stare at Steve’s ass as he walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve Rogers had never felt as uncomfortable in his life as he did standing in Sugar Daddy's pristinely clean, red-and-white tiled kitchen. He hated everything about this place, from the large equipment he was definitely not used to, to the idea of having to work with _Tony Stark,_ who had a very large home field advantage.

“You can have that side,” said Tony, gesturing vaguely towards the other side of the kitchen where a stand mixer, icing equipment and all the ingredients had already been set out. They’d agreed on vanilla cupcakes with red and yellow American buttercream to represent the school colors, and chocolate cupcakes with chocolate buttercream to make the kids happy.

“Okay,” said Steve shortly. He was here to win, not make conversation. He examined the food coloring, a gel brand that Steve had never heard of before.

“Okay,” said Tony, clearly feeling as awkward as Steve did. “You can… start whenever you like.” He turned abruptly away, erratically measuring out the butter and sugar he’d need.

It was mind-numbingly awkward at first. Steve could barely focus on the butter he was cutting into small squares, too preoccupied with the loud silence between them. Tony shuffled around a bit, trying his best to make some noise, but other than that, the pair worked in silence.

For about ten minutes. It was a miracle they’d even lasted that long without an argument.

Just as Steve was beginning to get in the zone, Tony let out a loud shriek. Steve dropped the measuring cup full of milk he was holding, afraid Tony had gotten burnt or worse, only to see the man staring at him in shock.

“You’re putting _nuts_ in the cupcakes?!”

“What the fuck, Tony?” said Steve angrily, staring at the milk spilled on his workstation. It would be a pain to clean up.

“What kind of cupcakes are you making that need _nuts_?”

“They’re my secret ingredient,” said Steve sarcastically, mentally cursing Tony as he mopped the spilt milk up. “We never said we’d have to use the same recipe.”

“Fine, then,” shrugged Tony, turning to his own batter. “I’m not complaining about you helping me win.”

Steve growled, ready to punch Tony in the face, but calmed himself down. No need to resort to violence. He could win with just his cupcakes.

Also, Tony’s nose was one of his few good features. It would be a shame to break it.

As Steve spooned his batter into the cupcake cases, he glanced over at Tony, who was doing the same thing, except… his batter looked different. And why did he have two bowls?

“Wait,” he said, “You didn’t tell me we could color the batter!”

“If you can put nuts in it, I can marble it,” sneered Tony. “Besides, the kids love colorful cupcakes. Why would I help you win?” He turned back to his batter, an infuriatingly annoying smirk on his face that Steve wanted to wipe off, somehow.

Steve turned to clean his workstation when the cupcakes were in the oven, while Tony flipped down onto a chair, stretching his legs, Steve stared at him with open disgust.

“Aren’t you going to clean your mess?” he asked, gesturing at Tony’s dirty counter. His workspace was messier and more cluttered than Steve’s even without having spilt any milk. Tony just waved his hands nonchalantly.

“There’s time,” he said, “The cupcakes have to bake and then cool. Lemme recharge for a bit.” 

Steve scoffed. “It’s times like these when I can believe you were raised in a barn.”

“Hey,” said Tony, raising his eyebrows. “I know you like to talk shit, but my mom really did teach me all this stuff. She taught me how to cook and bake and a whole lot of other things. She also taught me that food tastes better when you relax and don’t treat it like a chore.”

Despite Tony’s offhand tone, Steve could see how his fists clenched at the mention of his mother, how his eyes were shiny with unshed tears. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” said Tony, waving his hands vaguely again. “It’s not a big deal.”

Steve didn’t know why, but he felt like he needed to continue the conversation. He hadn’t ever imagined Tony as having a private life before.

“Are you… close to your mom?” he asked, turning away to wipe the counters down. He caught Tony’s tight smile out of the corner of his eye.

“She doesn’t speak to me anymore. Neither of my parents do,” said Tony bitterly. “Probably out of disappointment that their only son didn’t make anything of his life except owning a failing bakery.”

Steve paused in his cleaning. “But… this place is really successful, right? Everyone loves your food.”

“I don’t want to talk business right now, Steve,” snapped Tony, and even between the rising awkwardness, Steve couldn’t help but register that this was the first time Tony had ever called him by his first name.

“Sorry,” said Tony, suddenly. “My family is… kind of a sore topic for me.” He shook his head. “What about your parents?”

“Uh…” said Steve, somehow struck dumb by the question. “I, uh…” he took a few seconds to clear his throat. “My dad died before I was born, and my mom when I was five. Didn’t really know either of them.”

“Oh,” said Tony, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry.” Steve shrugged, the same way he did when anyone said that. “So how did you learn to bake?”

“I taught myself,” Steve replied, “I was in and out of the foster system my whole life, and I figured I’d need a skill of some kind, so…” he shrugged. “Here I am.”

“That’s rough,” said Tony, shaking his head. Steve didn’t know what to say. Was Tony Stark… feeling sorry for him? And had they really managed to go five minutes without yelling at each other?

Tony seemed lost in thought for a moment, and Steve turned away. He still had to wash up and start on the buttercream, and behind him, he heard Tony do the same thing.

 _You’re still competing_ , he reminded himself. _It doesn’t matter how nice Tony’s being. You just have to make better cupcakes._

  
  
  


Tony’s cupcakes came out perfectly, and sadly, so did Steve’s. Tony set his cupcakes to cool on the side as he whipped up three batches of buttercream in red, yellow and chocolate. He stood to the side as the stand mixer did its work, watching Steve measure out a few spoonfuls of milk to add to his icing with an annoying feeling of… guilt? Sadness? Pity? He had no idea.

But that was the whole point wasn’t it? _He had no idea_. He’d never known Steve had had such a rough life, and now Tony felt… less hatred, and more of a compelling desire to get to know the other man better. He bit his lip, staring at Steve with crossed arms as the man sat down, waiting for his butter and sugar to cream together.

“So,” started Tony, unsure where the sentence was heading, “Peter.”

“I checked with Bucky a few minutes ago,” said Steve. “The kids are fed and watered and healthy, I promise. Buck said they’re on their second episode of Paw Patrol.”

“I know, I trust your friend the elf,” snorted Tony. “No, I was just wondering… it’s just the two of you, huh? Where’s his mom?” Steve eyed him warily.

“Long story,” he muttered, not looking Tony in the eye, and Tony knew instinctively that there was another sad tale behind this.

“Let’s trade,” he offered, “I’ll tell you Morgan’s story if you tell me Peter’s.” Steve let out a grunt, and Tony took that as an approval.

“Morgan’s mom was my best friend from when we were kids. After college, we thought we’d be perfect together. Got pregnant and everything. In retrospect, we definitely didn’t work as a couple. We were better off just being friends, but Pepper was already seven months pregnant when we broke up. We lived together for a while to look after Morgan, but then Pepper got a new boyfriend, a new job offer on the other side of the country… and I told her she should take it. Partly my fault we ended having a kid anyway.”

“Does Morgan not see her mom anymore?” asked Steve curiously, the first real sign of interest he’d shown in Tony all day. Tony couldn’t help but feel pleased.

“She does, but not often. Pepper has a really demanding job, and I don’t blame her for not being able to have Morgan or see her that much.”

“Huh,” said Steve, wonder in his tone. There was a pause, and then: “Do you regret it?”

“Which part?” asked Tony, turning away on the pretense of checking his buttercream, and discreetly wiping his eyes. “Pepper and I probably should never have gotten together. It was a completely fucked up period of our lives. But I don’t regret Morgan. She’s the only bright spot in my life right now, and I’m lucky I have her.”

Tony almost jumped out of his skin when he felt a touch on his elbow. Steve pulled away immediately, blushing furiously, but the pity he felt for Tony was clear in his eyes. “I’m really sorry, Tony.”

Tony just shrugged. “All’s well that ends well, right?” he said cheerfully. He squinted up at Steve, the height difference between the pair more noticeable than ever. “Your turn, mister. What’s Peter’s story?” Steve sighed.

“It starts the same way as yours I guess,” he said resignedly. “His mom, Peggy, and I grew up together. We were in love by the time we were 10 and got married right out of high school.” Tony’s shock must have been visibly clear, because Steve bristled in his seat. “Not because we were idiots, Tony. We’d both planned on going into the military, and there’s better benefits when you’re married.”

“You were in the military?” asked Tony, shocked. He shook his head. “You are an enigma, Steve Rogers.” Steve shot Tony an annoyed look, but even Tony could see he was struggling to hide a smile.

“Do you want the story or not?” 

Tony nodded, propping his hands on his chin. Steve rolled his eyes, but continued.

“Anyway, we were in Afghanistan for a couple of years when we learned Peggy was pregnant. She came home at 6 months, gave birth to Peter, and then a couple months later, was immediately back on the field with us. She was that kind of woman.” Steve smiled sadly. “She died in combat when Peter was about a year old. That… got me a bit messed up. Starting thinking about my own death, and how I was putting my life on the line every day. I didn't want Peter to be left an orphan, so I rushed home when my last tour was over, and it’s been the two of us ever since.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “What is this, the Tragedy of Steve Rogers?” he asked, dumbfounded. “What kind of fates are controlling your life, and why did they deal you such a shitty card?”

Steve just shrugged. “Peter was born with a congenital heart defect,” he offered. “They managed to fix it, but he’s still at high risk.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tony stood up, pacing around the kitchen until he came to a pause in front of Steve. “Steve… I am so sorry. For everything.”

“’S not your fault.”

“No, but I probably haven’t made your life easier by being such a dick.”

“That’s true,” admitted Steve quietly. “But then again, I was always an asshole to you too.”

“We’re setting such great examples to our children, aren’t we,” laughed Tony. He rubbed his hand over his hair, sighing, and then walked straight towards Steve and stuck his hand out.

“Hi, I’m Tony Stark,” he said, smiling at Steve’s bemused look. “I’m 30 and I have two PhDs in engineering, but decided I liked baking and running a small business instead.”

“What are you doing?” asked Steve, “And what do you mean you have… two PhDs in engineering? Is that even possible?”

“I'm starting over,” replied Tony, still holding his hand out. “And you can’t ask personal questions until you introduce yourself too. Gosh, Steven, what kind of manners are you teaching Peter?” Steve smiled at that, the first real smile Tony had seen from him, shaking Tony’s outstretched hand.

“Hi, I’m _Steve_ Rogers. Not Steven,” he said. “I’m 29, I have one son and a baking business that I started. I like art.” He paused. “Is that enough?”

“That’s enough,” smiled Tony, turning to stop his mixers. The poor ingredients must have been creamed to within an inch of their lives. “I gotta say, I like you better when we’re not fighting.”

“So do I. Now explain the PhDs.”

“Only if you explain what you meant by ‘I like art’.”

“It means I like art, Tony,” said Steve, rolling his eyes. “There’s no hidden meaning there. I like to paint things, mostly abstract art, but sometimes landscapes, and portraits on occasion. I don’t have much time for it now, but I always do the decorative cakes if we get orders for them.”

“Wait, so the paintings up front are _yours_?” asked Tony, dumbfounded. “No wonder they looked so ugly.” Steve frowned at him then, an adorable quirk of his lips, and… Tony had to wonder when he started thinking of his 200-pound muscled ex-enemy as _adorable_.

“I’m kidding,” he said quickly. “They’re not really my style, but they’re nice.” Steve smiled at that, a red flush coating his face as he scooped his icing into piping bags.

“Now explain the PhDs.”


	5. Chapter 5

And he did. They talked about everything, from Peter and Morgan’s favorite foods, to the state of their school, to business, to their dead and/or separated exes. They talked about general, everyday things, and they talked about Steve’s PTSD from the war and Tony’s bouts of depression. Steve had long since moved his tools to Tony’s side of the kitchen, and the two men worked side by side, swirling marbled icing on a cupcake here and pressing decorations onto a cupcake there.

Steve’s jaw dropped as Tony brought the subject back to his education. Two PhDs, two bachelor’s degrees and one Masters in physics. All at the age of 30. Tony Stark was truly a miracle.

“I was, and still am I guess, what they call a child prodigy. A genius. Whatever,” Tony waved his hand, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “I liked studying, and I did want to go for a more science-related career, but then… Morgan happened, and I realized I’d be much happier having a small-time job and getting to spend more time with her, than if I'd gone into engineering or physics.”

“I’m guessing your parents didn’t like that?”

“Of course they didn’t,” said Tony bitterly. “My dad always thought I was never good enough, even before Morgan. We never really had a good relationship. My mom and I… we were close when I was younger, but she wasn't very happy with me having Morgan before I’d gotten a ‘lucrative’ career, and then when I became a quote unquote, single dad, they pretty much cut us off entirely.” He shrugged. “Their loss.”

“Tony, that’s so sad,” said Steve sincerely. And it was. He couldn’t imagine being cut off from your closest relatives over something that you couldn't even control. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t really care,” said Tony nonchalantly, but Steve could see he was squeezing the piping bag with maybe a little too much force, his arms trembling. “I don’t miss them, really. And I didn't do anything wrong. I always wanted kids. I _want_ to not be some big-shot engineer or executive like my dad. If they can’t understand that, I—”

Seemingly out of nowhere, the bag exploded with a _bang!,_ popping from how tightly Tony was squeezing it. Steve stepped backwards in shock, but he hadn’t been fast enough; both he and Tony were now covered in chocolate-brown icing, although Tony seemed to have taken most of the hit. He stood unmoving, his face and most of the front of his hair splattered with brown. He was still shaking slightly, and Steve could see his eyes shining with tears.

“Tony,” he said, gently pulling at his elbow and leading him to a chair. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” mumbled Tony. “Shit, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay,” said Steve gently, unsure what to do here. “Maybe we should take a break?”

“I said I’m fine,” said Tony through gritted teeth, his fists clenched. “Let’s just… clean this up, and then I’ll start a new batch—”

Steve pulled Tony into a hug, pressing the smaller man tightly to his chest. He didn't think about it, his mind acting on autopilot — all he knew was that he wanted to make Tony feel better, even with the frosting now smeared across both of their bodies.

“Steve, what are you doing?” asked Tony quietly, although he made no move to pull away. Steve shrugged.

“Figured you could use a hug.”

“It’s been a long time,” agreed Tony, with a smile that Steve could feel on his skin, and _oh_ , didn’t that feel nice. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” said Steve, blushing as Tony pulled away. Without the warmth of Tony’s bodily contact, Steve had no idea how he’d been so bold as to initiate a hug. With Tony Stark, of all people

“We should probably get cleaned up, huh?” sighed Tony, gesturing at the buttercream smeared between their bodies. He’d left a significant amount of it on Steve’s chest, but Steve knew from experience how hard it was to clean off. It was basically solidified and sweetened oil, after all.

“There’s only a few more cupcakes left,” offered Steve. “I’m done with the chocolate ones anyway; you can have my icing. We might as well finish them off; I don't want to have to get clean and then come back for all of this.”

Tony hummed his agreement. “Fine, but I’ll have to get this stuff off my face, at least.” He ran a finger through the icing smeared on his forehead and cheek and then he… licked it clean.

Steve’s heart stuttered to a stop. Fuck. Why was Tony _doing_ that?

Tony kept licking the icing off his face unconcernedly, like he was unaware of what it was doing to Steve, like he couldn't see the man frozen in shock in front of him. Steve felt himself grow hard under his apron as Tony stuck his tongue out to to lick at the flecks of icing he hadn’t caught before.

Tony dragged his finger over the last bit of icing on his skin, and Steve knew he had to say something. His jeans would explode if he didn’t, and his cheeks felt like they would burst into flames with how much he was blushing.

“Tony,” he said, or squeaked, rather, “Can you, um… not do that?” Tony looked at him, confused, but with one glance at Steve’s fiery-red cheeks, he seemed to understand exactly what was happening. He laughed, licking his finger even more seductively.

“Why? Do you like it?” he said, batting his honey-brown eyes, and Steve vaguely noted how long and _perfect_ his lashes were. Tony really did have it all, didn’t he?

“Didn’t know you swung for the other team, Rogers,” laughed Tony, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a _pop_. Steve’s brain felt like it had short-circuited.

“I, uh, didn’t know _you_ did,” he managed to say, and Tony gave him a look that plainly told him he thought Steve was an idiot.

“I’ve been very open about my sexuality,” said Tony, frowning, “Which I know most people in this place don’t like, but I refuse to raise Morgan with the idea that loving someone in any way is bad.” He paused, then added, “Of course, unless she falls in love with some pedophile 30 years older than her when she’s in her rebellious teenage phase. That is bad.”

“That’s… great parenting,” said Steve weakly, still trying to recover from Tony’s blatantly sexual display. He closed his eyes, willing his erection to go down. Thank god for the apron, was all he could say.

“Do I make you flustered?” teased Tony, running his spit-covered finger up and down Steve’s arm. Steve shivered, losing any hope of not having to take a cold shower soon.

“Tony…” he groaned, “Stop.”

“Fine, but only because it’s probably sexual harassment if I don’t,” said Tony, pulling away from Steve, who almost whimpered. He didn’t want Tony to stop. He wanted Tony to keep touching him.

Somehow, Steve managed to stand up and waddle towards his workstation, piping quick red-and-yellow swirls on the few remaining cupcakes. He pressed the decorations onto them with no sense of order whatsoever, given that all of his focus was on not bumping into the tiny man next to him. Neither of them said another word to each other as they neatly arranged their cupcakes in the boxes, and Steve could barely breathe, suffocated by the sexual tension. He tried not to even look in Tony’s direction, until they placed their boxes in the refrigerator, ready for delivery tomorrow, and he was forced to look Tony in the eye.

“Is it just me, or are you acting weird?” said Tony, frowning. He looked amazingly adorable, and Steve’s mouth went dry at the sight. “Did I do something wrong? Was it the — oh.” Tony paused, looking abashed. “It was the sexual harassment, wasn’t it.”

“What?” asked Steve, only half listening. Tony looked so _sad._ He didn’t like when Tony looked sad.

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Tony, and Steve raised his brows in confusion. What did Tony have to be sorry for, except maybe for being so mind-blowingly adorable and yet sexy at the same time? “I… it was a joke, I promise. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Tony, what—”

“I mean, Lord knows you’re amazingly sexy and you have one of the most gorgeous bodies I’ve ever seen — seriously Steve, how are you so ripped after working around sweets all day — but. Boundaries. I know. I don't have them.”

“Hold up,” said Steve. “What do you mean I have… what was it? The most gorgeous body you've ever seen?”

“Not the most elegant way I could have phrased it, but yes.” Tony shook his head. “Look at you! You look like one of those Greek Gods brought to life!”

“I’m not,” said Steve, jolted out of his stupor at Tony’s words. “And you’re one to talk. You literally have all the women here throwing themselves at you!”

“Sadly enough, I’m not interested in them. In fact, I think I’ve sworn off women entirely after Pepper. My type is usually—” he looked Steve up and down, and Steve blushed, feeling almost exposed “—hot blond guys with more muscles than teeth.”

“Tony, you hate me, remember?”

“And here I thought we were becoming friends,” said Tony, mock-frowning. He pouted at Steve, his lips quirked into a frown that Steve wanted to kiss away—

Steve’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. Where had _that_ come from?

“I’m sorry about the whole hating-you thing,” said Tony, earnest now. “You just seemed so big and perfect and easy to hate.”

“Perfect, huh?”

“Really, Rogers? I give you an apology, and that’s all you get from that?”

Steve gulped, his brain going a mile a minute. What was happening here? “Are you… flirting with me?”

Tony huffed. “I’ve been flirting with you for the last ten minutes, but sure, thanks for noticing it now.”

“Um… why?”

Tony threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “Because, Rogers, I thought I hated you, but I don’t. I thought you’d be a boring asshole, like my ex, Ty, who had abs for days but not a single thought in his head. You’re kind and sweet and easy to talk to and you’re the only person I’ve ever told about my parents. And this is all from like, five hours of hanging out with you. I’ve been friends with Rhodey and Bruce, my coworkers, for years now and they don’t know about my mom. They only know the basics of what happened with Pepper.” Tony paused, shaking his head. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re hot and beautiful and I really want to do sinful things with your body.” Tony licked his lips, raking his eyes over Steve’s thighs and pecs, and really, Steve couldn’t be blamed for what he did next. Tony was basically giving him an open invitation.

He surged forward, his hands on Tony’s face, pressing their lips together in a kiss.

After a moment’s pause, Tony pressed harder against him too, his hands coming up to cup Steve’s, pressing their icing-covered bodies closer together. Steve’s mind was blissfully blank. All he could focus on was the feel of Tony’s lips against his, Tony’s stubble under his fingers, the way Tony kept pressing closer and closer into Steve’s space. He sighed happily, his hands moving up to cup the back of Tony’s neck.

He was _kissing Tony Stark._

  
  
  


He was _kissing Steve Rogers_.

He had died and gone to heaven. That was it. The exploding piping bag must have killed him, and he had ended up in heaven. Because there was no other explanation for the fact that he was here, covered in icing and flour, pressed against Steve Rogers, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. He was dead.

Just to test that theory though, Tony pressed harder against Steve, pushing him onto the chair. Tony immediately clambered onto his (big strong, muscular) lap, his legs hanging off the side of the chair, and every part of his body pressed flush to Steve’s. He deepened the kiss, licking his way along Steve’s lips, and he felt it with his whole body as Steve shuddered under him. He ran his hands up and down Steve’s side, appreciating the firm muscle even in his kiss-drunken haze. Steve curled his hand at the nape of Tony’s neck, fisting at the short hairs there, and Tony groaned, moaning and panting like a dog in heat into Steve’s mouth.

This had to be a dream.

Tony pulled away suddenly, panting with a need for air. Steve looked just as breathless as he felt, just as messed up, but he had a small, contented little smile on his face. He looked… _happy_. Like he’d just gotten something he’d wanted for a very long time.

And, right there, Tony realized he wanted it too. Whatever this was between them; Tony wanted all of it and more.

“Was that okay?” asked Steve shyly, suddenly looking nervous.

“What the… of course that was okay!” said Tony, still shocked by what had just happened, as well as by his sudden realization of his… _feelings_ for Steve. “Fuck. Can we do that again? Why did I stop?”

“We can do that again,” agreed Steve, before wrinkling his nose into the cutest expression Tony had ever seen. “We should probably get cleaned up first though.”

“Yes. Clean. We should clean up,” Tony babbled. He didn’t want to clean up. He wanted to _keep kissing Steve_. Steve seemed to read exactly what he was thinking on his face and pressed a quick kiss to Tony’s cheek, licking up some of the dry icing in a way that made Tony’s heart stutter and his pants grow tighter.

“If we do it quick,” he said sweetly, a sharp contrast to the smirk on his face, “Maybe we can take a shower together before the kids come back.”

Rhodey would have been surprised at how fast Tony cleaned up after that.


	6. Epilogue

There were several eyes on them the next day when both Tony and Steve walked into the Christmas party hand-in-hand, following their children. Tony could already tell the Pinterest moms around him were starting to gossip, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything at the moment, really, his heart filled to bursting as he looked over Steve and Peter, both wearing matching sky-blue shirts, Peter even wearing a little bow tie.

Halfway through their shower last night, Steve had paused their… activities for long enough to grab his phone and beg Bucky to keep the kids overnight. An irate Bucky had brought them around to Tony’s place the next morning (after having unsuccessfully tried to drop Peter off at Steve’s), and the two men had sat Peter and Morgan down to explain to them that their daddies were now very good friends, and they’d be spending a lot of time at each others houses. Bucky had rolled his eyes at that, but really, six-year-olds didn’t need much more of an explanation than that.

Luckily, both Morgan and Peter had decided it was the best news in the world. Steve stayed over at Tony’s, only leaving for a few minutes to collect his and Peter’s clothes, and they’d left for the party together, looking every inch a nice, happy family.

They sat patiently through the ceremony part of the party, cheering happily as both Morgan and Peter received tiny little scrolls, stating that they were now ready to move on to the first grade. Rhodey had a point, Tony thought, in that this was all probably unnecessary, but it was certainly adorable, especially when Morgan was up there in her sparkly pink dress. Peter and his little bow tie were a close second.

“You know,” said Tony, as they watched the children enjoy their Christmas party afterwards, “We never agreed on what the winner gets.”

“Winner of what now?” asked Steve absently, examining the kids’ art and drawings that were displayed on the wall. Tony mock-frowned at him.

“The bake-off is still on, mister,” he said, booping Steve’s nose and making him grin. “I didn’t spend all that time making cupcakes for me not to win.”

“Well you don’t have to worry, because my cupcakes are better,” smiled Steve. He bent over the slightest bit, so he could whisper into Tony’s ear. “And I know exactly what you can… _give_ me when I win.”

Tony’s let out a full-body shudder. This was one competition he couldn’t wait to lose.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Happy New Year, Neb, and I wish you a wonderful 2021!


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